INDIA  (March '06)

What I thought, what I expected, what in fact unfolded before me, were people whom I had not taken to my heart and thought little of.

My only vague recognition of what I had before me lay in my ridiculous and often fantastical musings.

Overly romantic and totally unjustified.

Unjustified in the sense that, although India is a place rich in its own historical culture and upon a time wrapped in a totally romantic ideal of princes and princesses, kings and queens. Many colours and shades, gold and gems, aroma and texture. What un-nerved me instantly, I suppose, is that you need to look far and wide for your romantic India. It can be found, there is no denying that, but what you see first is the clincher. Sights and sounds of which, if you allow, will stay with you, perhaps even haunt you. It’s easy to sit back and know that we as a western civilisation in the UK, can so easily take for granted all that we have. With our expensive clothes, cars, houses, hell, even our lunches and dinners. It’s difficult to imagine a life without, a life so ordinary.

I am caught between two things here. Knowing what I know now, what I have seen, do I need to feel sorry for these people or do I not feel sorry, because if there’s one thing they don’t need, it is for me to feel as though I owe them. They don’t need my pity, which is an insult. Who am I to think that pity should be given to people who have struggled harder, lived with less, and still go about their daily lives? If anybody needs pity, it is me, it is you, and it is us. We are the ridiculous, we are the poor. In our lives, status is, what we own, however, what we own eventually owns us and we have learnt to waste what we have and what we own.

In the simplicity of these people’s lives, there is no concern for what they could have or might have wanted. Their concern is only that they do what they can to survive, which to us, in it's own way, could be considered abhorrent. But who are we in our pointless lives? What is our worth? What is our point?

Of course, as I sit here and write this, under the burning hot Indian sun, I think to myself that so far, I’ve mentioned or taken into account every possible cliché. But, I hate that I have lost touch with this whole thing. The whole thing being India and what it should mean to me.

My comprehension of what goes on in these peoples lives is zero. Whereas it’s easy to comprehend my own and your own, it’s easy to comprehend our motivation, we have a goal, you and I. Money (wealth perhaps), status amongst our peers, status in our own minds. But it's bullshit, it's all bullshit.

What we have become and what we are is so much less, and the reality of it is, we can’t hope to attain what these people have. Perhaps we can try, but ask yourself; can you really do without hot showers? How about your skinny latte on the way to work (not that I subscribe to Starbucks in any way) Indeed, we are both victims of our surroundings, both the people of India and ourselves. We can make the choice to give these things up, to attain self as oppose to others, but we won’t!

There is a security guard here, who earns in a month what I earn in a couple of days. But he is not shy to say so, he wears his uniform with pride and does his job dutifully. There is a child who seeks to shine shoes with his rudimentary kit. He will take no for an answer but he will also allow himself to be of some help by giving up local information, because he knows we are tourists and he seeks to help. These are his streets and we have been welcomed and he helps us a great deal. But he won’t take your money, he insists…

“Sir, I am not a beggar.”

He is offered money instead for the information he has provided for us and under duress, accepts the money.

The child is six years old.

The pride within the people here knows no bounds. For them, it is a life that knows no complications. It is a life that lives within its means.

Perhaps I did find my romance with India, in that I was humbled by what I saw.

In England, I often hate the people, I hate the false smiles and the big shit-eating grins from behind the counter. Everybody has an attitude problem and nobody gives a shit about anything. And I suppose it's not just England, it's everywhere in the “civilised” world. We are nothing but wasters, poor excuses for human life because the majority of us have no idea of the cost of human life.

On my way to Delhi airport, I became quite emotional, I wasn’t leaving family behind, I was on my own and I became emotional for numerous reasons. A line from a Marvin Gaye song (Inner City Blues) played in my head…

“Oh, make me wanna holler and throw up both my hands, yea, it makes me wanna holler and throw up both my hands.”

I might have it out of context, because it was essentially a political song, but to me, at that moment, that line had further reaching connotations, which I’m sure, was the point. There were many moments during my visit when I became emotional. Moments when I could no longer hold myself in check for fear of actually choking on the tears that were draining me. Had I not actually allowed a tear or two to escape, the choking would have resulted in a scream akin to the sound a baby makes the moment it takes its first breath in the world and screams for its return to the womb.

Inside of me, all I could feel was despair that I wanted to break or destroy something. There were moments, so many, when I could walk the streets of Delhi, Jodhpur etc and had to avert my eyes and look at the pavement ahead of me. Why? I couldn’t understand it, but I knew, amongst these people, I felt ashamed. Ashamed of myself, of what I had become, of what I had allowed myself to become. We strive to understand what it is we truly are, we strive for a semblance of self and all we do is assume. We make excuses and tell ourselves that the façade which we all hone so well is us. It’s an insult. We believe we are what we do, what we wear, how our peers perceive us, when in fact, we are none of these things. We have lost what it means to be true to self because the point of self has been tainted by so many outside influences. None of these things, none of the ideas are our own. We follow blindly, taking in the neon lights and signs that tell us, this is who we are. Our souls are no longer our own. They belong to the “almighty dollar” We can no longer think for ourselves, even though we tell ourselves the decisions we make are our own. We are no longer the shepherds/leaders; we are merely the sheep, the followers.

Those of you who believe otherwise are more blind than the rest of us. For we truly have, lost the ability to see.

In part, perhaps I feel a certain regret for taking the time to visit India. Whereas before my journey, I was filled with questions regarding myself and my life, now I am filled with even more. The questions have multiplied. Where once I was full of conflict, now that conflict has multiplied. What I thought I might have known then, I realise I never knew now. The conflict within because of what I have seen, been witness to, only succeeds in confounding me further.

Once again, mine eyes have been opened, not for the first time in my thirty-two years; illumination and despondency make great bed-fellows. Before I could stop myself, I saw too much, as always.

The majority of people try to remove themselves from cliché, the point is, cliché exists. It is the obvious, and ignoring such, is ignoring what is right in front of you, another form of denial maybe.

I often stand in front of the full-length mirror, studying myself, not at how I look, or how I might appear when I leave the house. I study close up, so close that my breath can be seen on the mirror, studying my features, my eyes, the texture of my skin, looking for clues, some sort of sense of what I’m worth, of what is my point.

“This body, holding me, reminding me,

that I am not alone.

This body, makes me feel eternal,

all this pain is an illusion.”

-Maynard James-Keenan.

Taken from the TOOL album, Lateralus. (Parabol/ Parabola).

But, like the weight of the world on my shoulders, like an anvil round my neck, I wear this grudge like a crown. I look hard but find nothing, only complication. And in the grand scheme of everything, certainly after walking the streets of India, my issues, questions and complications, appear completely lacking in substance, petty.

True, we are victims of our surroundings, what we do in our day to day lives is only possible because we have been afforded that small choice to do so. To sit in a stylish wine bar, to stop in at a restaurant for an over-priced meal. I am a consumer of all things, sometimes cheap, other times expensive. But again, what would it take to give it all up in favour of the simplicity of life that I saw in India? Am I man enough to say that I can do without the luxuries I have afforded myself? Should I have to do without?

In my heart, I stand ten-feet tall, in my soul, I am a God amongst men, but in my mind I am a gibbering, complicated wreck.

Perhaps I’ve strayed somewhat from the subject matter, India. However, it is through my excursion that all I had questioned before has now been multiplied. Perhaps it's just me that feels these things, of course, I humbly bow to the insecurities that I have felt for long, but perhaps it is just me. Me, who allowed myself to be affected in this way, a weakness perhaps.

Maybe I have strayed too far from the point. Do not misunderstand me, I’m sure there are many things wrong with India, I know there is. I see it, saw it in the streets. In the wreckage of burnt out buildings, the destruction of parts of the landscape, the filth, the stench. Even in the ridiculous corporations that saw fit to build shopping malls in the poorest parts of town. These concrete structures rising from the dirt of the streets like a big middle finger to the general populace, as if to say…

“Fuck you, you poor unworthy, bastards of India, wake up and get with the millennium!”

Of course there is corruption, a society cannot exist without the government fucking it at every opportunity and the people being blinded by the ideas put to them by the people they choose to have in power. Everywhere around the world it exists. Yes, even in India.

Of course I understand what goes on behind the scenes. Of course I appreciate that in the foot-hills and the mountains, the dusty roads and villages dotted around, that tribal war takes place. Crime takes place, death takes place. I would be ignorant to assume otherwise. Perhaps the difference is in the fact that it’s not in your face, you don’t turn every corner in the street and assume the worst. You don’t wander through a village and think you’ll never leave alive. You don’t think about any of that, you don’t have time, because as a people who acknowledge what they have and what their existence and life amounts to, there is little need for aggression. It's true, that there is a small contingent that would choose to separate you from your as money, but I understand the motives. I feel that I want to help, but I cannot help everyone. Maybe if I help one person, that would be enough, choosing the few over the many is easy. A large part of me would welcome that with open arms. The UK doesn’t do this for me, it doesn’t make me want to feel, it doesn’t make me want to care or give a god-damn. It only makes me want to retch; it makes me want to constantly clean myself, to wash the crap and the filth from the day. It makes me angry all the time and all I feel is that I am odds with everything around me. Everybody looks for a hand out and everybody feels they are owed something from someone.

I hate this place, I hate hearing the conversations of others, on the bus, on the streets, so I drown it all out and become introverted while I plug myself into my ‘ipod’, turning the volume as far up as possible so that my vision vibrates. I choose solace in my own mental instability; I always have and find warmth and comfort in the multitude of questions and queries in my head, which are a constant. Being lost and glazed over in thoughts of my own existence, abandoning myself for those moments when I am totally detached from others and finding greatness in my solitary self. Knowing, that amongst other things, I am still truly and completely alone. Yet I remain.

Of course I want out, in more than one way and not just metaphorically. India however, made me forget these things. Made me calm. It also confounded me, but with good intent. I was asked upon my return here to the UK, if I had gone to India and found myself? And I had to answer, not in the slightest. I thought that it would happen, surely that’s what others have done, they’ve made that journey, found themselves. But I had to say no, if anything and I truly believe this, I never found myself in India…

I lost myself in India. I lost a lot. I lost all of this because I went somewhere that was other than what I was used to and it affected me in such a way that now I have to re-think so many things, whereas if I had found myself I wouldn’t feel how I feel now and for this I feel thankful for India. I wouldn’t want to come back to the UK and think that everything’s ok, that it’s all good here. I wouldn’t want to come back to the UK and talk about all I did and all I saw, because I don’t enjoy small talk. But I do it, there’s nothing about what I felt in India that I would like to tell others about because it has to do with me personally and not about the typical holiday experiences. It has to do with perceptions of others, perceptions of self and all of the things that involves. Realisation of something. I doubt I will ever put my finger on it, I doubt I will ever truly know what I lost or found or gave up in India. I do know however, that I am somehow far more disgusted, disappointed and at odds with being here in the UK.

I have been back in the UK a week now. I have returned to my job. I have returned to the bars and pubs that I visited often. I have fallen back into that routine, but somehow it doesn’t feel the same. It’s all different somehow. I haven’t slept properly since being back. Something in me aches and there is a feeling that the abyss at the centre of me has opened further and I am losing stability. We grow up, we evolve, but nothing of what we have seen in our time ever leaves us. It never left me and I remember all the time. I am at more of a loss now than before. This however is a double-edged sword, both good and bad, for reasons known and unknown to me.

But, it appears that I am getting too far from my original concept.

India.

I loved every moment of it. How it made me feel emotionally and physically. I enjoyed the company I was with and I enjoyed seeing my sister get married. I enjoyed walking bare-foot through the villages, walking the streets, seeing the people, the sights the sounds and the smells.

I will return one day, to India. I will always remember how it affected me the first time. I will hope that it does that again and every other time, should I choose to go back there. Now that I am back here in the UK, I will always remember how India affected me, I’ll never forget that. I may fall back into my routines and try for as long as I can to pull myself out of it, but I will always have the thoughts now of how I lost me. No matter what I do, where I am, India will be at the back of my mind always, urging me to not forget what I have spoken about in this entry, to recall in years how I feel now, hoping that I will always feel that there is something better than what I have here in the UK.

It's not about how many friends you have, not about the way you entertain yourself with them, how many times a week you can have a beer, its not about how you are in any social context.

It’s the knowledge that ‘being’ is better in so many other ways than what we are used to. Existence is simpler and less troubled when we are free to let go of what we have, what we take for granted.

I fear that the longer I go on about this, the more frustrated I will become. Maybe I’ve taken too much of your time explaining how I feel anyway. Maybe I missed points about India, maybe I missed the point about India. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I try, I simply cannot deny what is in me. It would seem that I may have been overly narcissistic in this entry, but I cannot do this any other way. Maybe I have taken too much time thinking of what is missing from my life and not enough time thinking of what I have, the simple truth is that what I have and what I should count myself lucky for, no longer has substance. I recognise the things that are missing from my life, but like most people I pretend to make it better by having another beer, surrounding myself with crap, buying a new CD, having trinkets and items of a disposable nature that can be replaced whenever I feel loss again. But things I really need, the things that would most likely make my life better, the things I know would enhance my life, that would make me appreciate my existence are partially out of reach. They exist as metaphors, every now and then, they are physical. But being here, living, breathing my everyday life makes me complacent and selfish. I know what I need (some things I wont admit here), the need far outweighs the want. I want a coffee, but I don’t need it, I want so many things but most of the things I want, I don’t need.

And so now, I swallow my frustration and get on with the life that I have been afforded and accustomed no matter how much it disgusts me and know that I will always have that ache at the back of my head and in my chest that is a constant reminder of what could be.

I asked myself before I went to India that I wish for ‘death’ and ‘re-birth’ while there. I am back in the UK now and realise that a large part of me died and a large part of me was re-born.

Taken from the TOOL album LATERALUS.

 

 

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